Determination
by arctic draconis
Summary: Ryoma's purpose in life. [Warnings: AU-ish, some violence]


**Determination**

The sound of chalk scratching against the board filled the quiet room as all but one diligently copied the notes. Echizen Ryoma was lost in his own thoughts, staring out the window. But when the teacher questioned him on the work, he answered it smoothly enough.

However, the incident made him realise the teacher had noticed his distraction, and he tried to appear as though he was doing what the drones (otherwise known as classmates) were. Even as he held the pen to the paper, his mind was sidetracked again. When the bell went and the class released, Ryoma had yet to write a single word. Unconcerned with his lack of productivity he packed his bag and headed towards the source of his distraction, the tennis courts.

Stepping into the bright sunlight outside the school building, Ryoma's heart, unlike the others his own age, failed to be lifted to high spirits. It was received with an equanimity that was totally unnatural in a boy his age. Yet none of his peers noticed his strange actions. After all, it was normal for Ryoma. He followed a group of first years into the change rooms and then onto the court, but while they peeled off to stand on the sidelines of the courts, he joined the group of older boys congregated in the centre of the courts.

Ignoring Tezuka's speech, Ryoma briefly tuned in to hear his name and the name of his opponent, Kaidoh. No emotion accompanied the announcement. Ryoma neither anticipated nor dreaded the match. Moving off to the assigned court, Kaidoh won the toss and chose to serve. Setting himself up in position for receiving the serve, his earlier disinterest sharpened and focussed on the ball held in Kaidoh's hand.

As the game progressed, Ryoma was forced to run from line to line as Kaidoh repeatedly used 'the snake'. He had to stop himself from stepping forward and just... but he couldn't, so he didn't. Unsurprisingly, he was the winner of the short match. Yet the exhilaration of the achievement was lacking in Ryoma as it had been for a while. However, he pasted a smirk on his face and made them all believe he was proud of the win. Just arrogant Ryoma, rubbing Kaidoh's nose in the fact that he couldn't win.

Leaving the courts at the end of the practice, Ryoma's eyes were caught by Tezuka's. The intense look directed towards him reminded Ryoma of Tezuka's directive

'Become the pillar of Seigaku'

Ryoma liked Tezuka. He understood a lot about Ryoma that no one else did. However, he didn't understand the price Ryoma would pay if he followed Tezuka's desires. Becoming uncomfortable beneath the others scrutiny, he pulled his cap lower and hurried to the change rooms.

The walk home from school was always too long and never long enough. As such, Ryoma dragged his feet in the hot afternoon sun, wishing to be going anywhere but home. But he couldn't draw the walk out forever, so he had to walk through his front door. As expected he was confronted by his father holding a tennis racquet, impatiently urging on their game.

Ryoma sighed and followed his father out onto the courts for another lesson in the greatness of Echizen Nanjiroh.

Ryoma lost. Like every other time, Nanjiroh controlled the game and brought unrelenting defeat down on Ryoma. When he felt his father had humiliated him enough, Ryoma escaped and hid in his room. Karupin joined him shortly afterward and Ryoma felt himself relaxing. Karupin was his best friend. He never asked for more than Ryoma could give and, for Ryoma's care, gave Ryoma pure affection. Ryoma understood Kaidoh's soft spot for animals; after all he had one himself. Cuddling Karupin to his chest, he curled his knees around Karupin's soft body, absorbing the animal's warmth. Gradually, Ryoma's eyes slipped shut and he fell into dreams and sleep.

X……….X……….X……….X……….X……….X

Ten year old Ryoma ran across the park with the other children, dodging around outstretched hands of the boy who was 'in'. Out sprinting his pursuers, he reached the sanctuary of 'bar' and turned to watch the other kids run around the trees. Seeing no one close to his sanctuary, he jogged back into the middle of the frantic children trying to outrun their pursuers, laughing with them as individuals undertook the strangest actions to stay out of reach of those who were in. When the game wrapped up and everyone else's parents came to collect their children, Ryoma walked a few hundred metres down the sidewalk to his house.

On the front door, Ryoma's father had stuck a note challenging him to a game of tennis on the local street courts. Ryoma grinned, excited at the challenge. Although he often played his father, recently he'd felt he was getting somewhere, gaining on his father's skills. Quickly gathering his racquet, he was soon making his way to the street courts. Cheerfully humming beneath his breath, Ryoma entered the courts and looked around for his father. Seeing him holding court amongst some young tennis fanatics from the area, Ryoma went to claim a court and prepare for the match.

Just as he began some warm up swings, his father joined him, setting himself up to receive Ryoma's serve. Shrugging, he complied with his father's request, serving Nanjiroh the ball. As the game progressed, it was obvious that Nanjiroh was controlling the game. Although Ryoma managed to score the rare lucky point, he was down 5 games to 0. This was the status quo for Ryoma in games with his father. He was always losing and, although it severely frustrated him, it didn't upset him.

Yet today he'd been hoping to at least come close to showing he had skill like his father. So when it became obvious that his father was going to take out the game, Ryoma switched gaming styles to one he'd recently developed but not yet mastered. The change in technique caused his father to falter and although it took him a while, he managed to win a set from his father. His father then proceeded to win the last set, acing each of his serves. However, his defeat didn't serve to frustrate Ryoma, he was too ecstatic over winning one game against his father and couldn't seem to keep the grin off his face.

Coming off the court, Ryoma's father looked long and hard at Ryoma. He congratulated Ryoma on improving, but didn't seem proud of Ryoma's achievement. Ryoma was confused and upset. Ever since he could hold a racquet this was what they'd been working towards. Ryoma was finally displaying the potential of Nanjiroh's genes. But Nanjiroh didn't seem pleased at all.

Shrugging off the hurt, Ryoma followed his father home, deciding to ignore his father's behaviour. But by the time they arrived at their house, his father's mood hadn't improved and in fact seemed to be worse. It continued to worsen over dinner as his father consumed a number of beers. It didn't help that his mother and her calming influence were away at a conference. So as soon as he could he retreated to his room, hoping his father would get over whatever had set him out of sorts.

In the middle of the night he was woken by loud banging on the staircase. Going to investigate, he found his father stumbling up the stairs, reeking of alcohol. Unnerved by his father's drunkenness, he went to retreat to his room, but was stopped by his father's large hand settling on his shoulder.

"So... brat.. come to gloat over yer old man?" Nanjiroh's grip tightened with each word. "Proud of yer self, ain't ya? Beaten a former tennis pro. 'S that what you'll be telling your friends tomorrow?" Ryoma stood still, shock and hurt battling for control of his body.

"You're a little child playing at a man's game." Nanjiroh's grip loosened and he hurried to get out of his father's presence. Yet he was too slow and a blow clipped his shoulder, sending him staggering into the wall.

Righting himself, he was just in time to receive another blow from his father. However, this one dropped him to his knees. On the ground he was an easy target for his father's feet and they went at him with vigour. Over the top of the sound of blows meeting his flesh he heard his father ranting.

"Damn brats, can't keep up with you and then they're beating you. Humiliate you in front of your friends. Useless. Ungrateful." Each word was accompanied by a harsh blow and Ryoma attempted to find the breath to get him to stop.

As each kick became more forceful, Ryoma curled up, trying to protect his head. There was a pause in the blows as one of Nanjiroh's kicks missed, allowing Ryoma to gather himself.

"Dad, stop. Please. You weren't humiliated..."

"Shut up." Ryoma's words were cut off with a fierce kick. "I know all about you. Can't wait to defeat you're old man. Brat. Should of put you in your place long ago ." A few more vicious kicks followed, stopping only when Ryoma could no longer cry out. Losing interest in the motionless form of his son, Nanjiroh wandered off, muttering further imprecations against his son under his breath.

Ryoma stayed still a few moments longer, checking to make sure his father wasn't returning. When no sound of approaching footsteps could be heard he scurried into his room. Closing the door behind him, he quickly realised there was no way for him to keep his father out. Scanning the room he came to the conclusion that the only remotely safe place was under the bed.

He winced as his bruises protested his movements to reach the safe haven and, once ensconced against the wall, he tried to find a position that didn't hurt. Realising the futility of his efforts after a few minutes of uncomfortable shuffling, he settled for the position that hurt the least. He didn't realise he slept until he was awoken the next morning by a loud banging. Panicked and momentarily forgetting the hurts from the night before, Ryoma had to bite back a loud moan as his shifting forcefully reminded him of his beating.

Slowly levering himself out from under the bed, Ryoma evaluated himself.

Nothing broken, no real damage except deep bruising. Still the pain wasn't something to be scoffed at and he dug out a painkiller to reduce the aches to a level at which he might function. Task accomplished, he stepped to the door, pausing to listen for any sounds outside his haven. Deciding the hall was safe he stuck his head out to confirm it, and heaved a sigh of relief at being correct.

Safe, for the moment, he rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. The face that stared back at him from the mirror was strange. It wasn't the purple bruises mottling his face, he'd expected them from the pain. It wasn't even the dried blood matted in his hair. Ryoma studied his reflection until he realised what had surprised him about his face. His eyes were brown!

Ever since he could remember he'd been getting compliments on the unusual colour of his eyes, a tawny yellow hazel. Now, there was no hint of such rich colours.1 Ryoma huffed at himself, here he was saddened by the loss of his golden orbs when just a few hours ago his father had tried to beat him to a pulp. Still... it felt like a huge loss, he just wasn't sure why.

Ryoma shook his head and brought himself back on track. Examining each bruise, he catalogued them one by one. As he did so, he made sure to cover them in muscle cream to ensure their swift healing. Satisfied with his efforts, he went in search of breakfast,

His arrival in the kitchen was noticed by a slight widening of Nanjiroh's eyes and a choked off sound that could have been a gulp. Wary of the man, Ryoma made sure to stay on the opposite side of the kitchen from him. However, after that first glance, his father refused to look at him. Needing answers, he decided to be direct.

"Why?"

The question evoked no response and Ryoma wanted to scream in frustration at not knowing. Yet he hesitated to ask again, afraid of the consequences of the knowledge. He stood for minutes that felt too long, watching Nanjiroh turn the pages of his newspaper.

He left the room in the same silence he entered.

X……….X……….X………X……….X……….X

Ryoma stood before his mirror, eyes tracing the outline of bruises that had long since healed. His hand moved to trace one of his newest wounds, this one hidden beneath the folds of his shirt.

Nanjiroh had learned over the years. It was no longer drunken rage, but deliberately calculated beatings, meant to show his continued dominance. Instead, Ryoma just thought he was sad. His father had given up the chance to hold the title of world number one and was trying to maintain his dream by beating Ryoma. It was worse than sad, it was pitiful.

Since the first beating, they'd never spoken about it. Yet Ryoma had realised their purpose. Nanjiroh was trying to beat the talent from his body. However, he didn't want a talentless son, so although he no longer truly attempted to defeat his father, he suffered his father's fists for not trying hard enough. It was a contradiction and yet it was his life.

As time had gone by, Ryoma had shut himself off from his old self. He no longer joined the other kids in a friendly game of tag, no longer smiled from pure happiness and no longer dreamt childish dreams. His life was devoted to at once pleasing his father (despite his hatred for the man) and destroying him.

He trained hard, learnt tennis as something more than his genetic skill. Then he returned home and allowed his father to defeat him. Even though he thought he was gaining the edge, he never stepped up to his father and showed him his talents. After all the victory would be no good until he could leave home. Plus he wanted to totally annihilate his father, not just beat him. He'd show him real humiliation.

When they moved to Japan, Ryoma was reluctant. Despite his penchant for Japanese food, he knew the move would disrupt his life and his purpose. And it did. School was no longer a six-hour session designed to mass-produce people who could read, write and count. Instead, it was a gruelling session aimed at creating the brightest minds of the world.

And yet... it was the right place for him.

The competitive setting allowed him to increase his range of techniques. Also, despite being unable to demonstrate his true potential, he could defeat tennis player after tennis player... and be praised for it.

Seigaku also gave him comrades. The regulars were the closest things to friends he'd had in years.

Ryoma forced himself to look away from the remembered bruises, hand automatically reaching for the brim of his hat. His hand clenched around the tennis racquet grip and he felt its ridges dig into his palm.

He wasn't there yet. But he would be. Echizen Nanjiroh was going down.

X…………X…………X…………X…………X

1' Right…for those who didn't get it, this was supposed to be a euphemism for lost innocence. The few other people who read this didn't pick up on it, so I thought I'd put it in as an end note


End file.
